


Falling Down

by MizLizzy



Series: MizLizzy's Hopes and Dreams for Sherlock & John [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angry Sherlock, Caretaker John, Embarrassed Sherlock, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Funny, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Love Confessions, Passion, Pining John, Pining Sherlock, Post-Season/Series 03, Sad!John, Sexual Tension, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-22
Updated: 2015-09-22
Packaged: 2018-04-22 22:11:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4852373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MizLizzy/pseuds/MizLizzy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock realizes sometimes an embarrassing situation can prove to be worth it in the long run.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Falling Down

Sherlock Holmes was in high dudgeon: a full sulk. As he walked beside his companion, any passerby would be able to see his displeasure. His mouth was set in a grim line, his nostrils flared with suppressed…anger? He walked stiffly beside John as they carefully picked their way towards Baker Street on the snow and ice-slicked sidewalk. Sherlock pushed his clenched fists further into the pocket of his posh Belstaff coat, and dipped his head deeply into his scarf and upturned collar for warmth, and, perhaps, a place to hide his flaming cheeks.

He looked over at his companion, unusually quiet during this late-evening walk. What he saw did not improve his mood. John’s face was a study, to be sure. Muscles twitching, and his mouth making strange little moues as he struggled with emotions he was having trouble containing. He studiously worked at NOT looking at Sherlock, and Sherlock was glad of it. His annoyance level rose as he noticed the shaking of John’s shoulders, and at that point, Sherlock reached the end of his tolerance level for this infantile behavior. With an indignant huff, he quickened his pace and began outstriding his somewhat shorter companion. _That would teach John. Make him scurry to keep up._ John simply chuckled and said, “Do you think you ought to be going that fast on this slick pavement, Sherlock?” Sherlock looked back at him and glared, as John grinned widely.

“Shut up, John. As usual, the things that you find humorous completely escape me.” He turned his back, raised his chin haughtily and continued walking home, with John quietly following behind. Sherlock dared not look at him again. This was a monstrously intolerable scenario and he simply wanted to get home and get himself out of John’s sight as soon as possible. As he walked, he attempted to pointedly ignore most of the curious stares he was receiving from other Londoners out and about. Sometimes, he glared down their wide-eyed perusals as they looked him up and down and very studiously failed to acknowledge that every time this happened, strange little squeaks and choking sounds came from John’s _(stupid, idiotic, ridiculous)_ face.

As they approached 221B, and Sherlock’s anticipated reprieve from disgrace, he risked a glance at John. The good doctor was biting his lip, attempting to master himself. John would not meet his eyes. Sherlock rolled his eyes and opened the front door. When they stepped inside, Mrs. Hudson opened the door to her flat, already talking as she headed out into the foyer. “Boys, be quiet please, Annalise is sleeping; I only just got her to go to sleep again. Sherlock, have you seen my turkey baster? I hope that you haven’t used it for some mad experiment, I could never be sure that it is truly sterile if you have, and you really ought to ask before you – Oh, my! What’s happened to you two?”

At this point, Sherlock looked over at John and, once their eyes met, John basically exploded in laughter. “Ugh!” Sherlock spat, pushing himself up against the wall by the stairwell with arms folded in a full pout. John continued to guffaw, bent at the waist and gesturing for Mrs. H to give him a moment to gather himself. “Oh God, Mrs. H, oh my God, I wish you could have seen it!” Mrs. Hudson looked at Sherlock, and after seeing his stormy look, looked at John with confusion as he continued to laugh himself breathless. 

“Okay. Okay.” John took a deep breath and patted Sherlock on the arm. “Here’s what happened…” he said as he looked at Sherlock again, caught a glimpse of his clothes, and dissolved into gales of laughter again. Sherlock huffed again and started to go up the stairs, but John caught his sleeve and held him there. “I’m sorry, Sherlock, I’m sorry…let me get it together, I just can’t help it…” He took a few more breaths and turned to Mrs. H, his hand still gripping the sleeve of the filthy Belstaff coat. 

“Be quiet, John! You’re going to wake Annalise with your carryings on!” Mrs. Hudson remonstrated, although she couldn’t repress the smile at seeing John so transported by whatever had happened.

“Edna, thank you for watching Annalise. We did head out to the pub for a few pints and some fish and chips, like we said we were going to do. We had a couple of pints and were just getting ready to order some dinner, and Greg texted from a crime scene and asked if Sherlock could come take a look. So we decided to go and have a look over. In hindsight, I probably should have made Sherlock eat something before we drank our beer, because now that I think of it, he hadn’t eaten all day. We headed over to the crime scene – no, stay, Sherlock! We headed over to the crime scene and the victim was found at the top of a really high, steep incline right by the river. Sherlock started deducing right away, and now that I think of it, I did notice that he was gesturing a little more widely than normal so I guess things were kind of going wavy for him and I didn’t think anything of it at the time. He kept walking around the body and making his deductions. Then all of a sudden, I guess the answer came to him; he stood upright and when he went to spin on his heel, he slipped on the ice and snow, and fell straight down the hill towards the river! One minute he was standing there, and the next second – poof! He’s gone! It was very startling!” At this point he started giggling again. 

“And…I was alarmed so Greg and I hurried to the edge of the hill and…and…there he was…he had slid halfway down the hill and that big coat of his had gotten hung up in a bush. It had entirely rucked up under his arms and his arms were forced above his head…like this…” John demonstrated by holding his arms up above his head and waving them a little bit. “I always knew that it would bite him in the ass someday, wearing that coat, flapping around him like a great bat! The Yarders were all beside themselves, no one could keep a straight face! I mean, one second, there’s our brilliant detective, then…Poof! He’s gone!” At this point, John doubled over again, both hands hanging on to the side of the aforementioned coat and his head leaning against Sherlock’s hip as he continued to laugh. 

Finally, he looked up at Sherlock. Aggrieved and embarrassed, Sherlock looked down into John’s face and saw the eyes crinkled with laughter, tears starting to seep at the edges. Suddenly, his anger dissipated, as he thought to himself that John hadn’t laughed in such a long time; he hadn’t found genuine amusement in anything since Mary had passed away. He supposed it wasn’t such a bad thing that he was humiliated in front of the entire Yard, as long as John would continue to smile and laugh like this. He slowly grinned down at John, and over at Mrs. Hudson, who was giggling too as she took in his mud-encrusted appearance. He really was filthy from hair to shoes. Sherlock chuckled and said, “It took John almost ten minutes to untangle me from that bush, and both of us kept sliding towards the river. I really thought we would both end up freezing in the Thames. Luckily one of the rescue lads had a goodly length of rope and he tossed it down to us and pulled us both up the hill. Too late for the coat, though…” He held it out and sighed. He loved this coat. Hopefully the cleaners could redeem it.

“Well, Mrs. H, I’ll come back down to get Annalise in a while, we both need to get out of these muddy clothes.”

“That’s fine, dear. She’s sleeping just fine. I can’t believe she hasn’t woken with all this ruckus!”

As John followed Sherlock up the stairs, he noticed how stiffly Sherlock was climbing. He hadn’t thought to check him over for injury at the crime scene, and Sherlock was so angry on the way home he doubted he could have gotten close enough to look. Once they arrived in the sitting room, Sherlock removed his coat and began to start unbuttoning his shirt. John saw the back of his shirt and trousers. They were completely blackened with mud. “Oh, Sherlock, your purple shirt,” he said with true regret. “It’s seriously mucked up. What a shame, I really loved that shirt.” His tone of voice caused Sherlock to pause for a moment, and then he continued unbuttoning it so he could look at the back. When he started to pull his arms from the sleeves, John noticed him flinch.

“Sherlock, are you hurt? Let me look you over.”

Sherlock turned towards John. “I think I might have pulled some muscles when my arms were pinioned over my head. And my back stings a little bit.” He finished removing the shirt, and John walked him towards the kitchen so that he could have proper light to look at his back. His hands were gentle as he checked Sherlock over.

“Yes, you did scrape your back. Only one or two areas are bleeding, but there’s dirt in the scrapes, so we’re going to need to clean that out. You’ve got a bruise by your right shoulder near the rotator cuff. You probably came close to dislocating this shoulder tonight. No wonder you’re sore. I bet you’ll be really stiff tomorrow. Come on, let’s rinse the mud out of your hair in the sink, then go in the bathroom so I can clean out those scrapes.” Whenever John became Dr. Watson, his voice changed to a firm but gentle tone, echoing the capable doctor’s hands. As Sherlock patiently bent his head under the kitchen tap, John carefully rinsed the mud from Sherlock’s sable curls, and patted them dry with a towel. Then, he pulled Sherlock by the hand into the loo, and sat him down on the toilet lid. Gathering his supplies, he carefully and lightly cleaned the scrapes, applied antibiotic ointment, and then rubbed a muscle liniment into Sherlock’s shoulder. Sherlock was grateful his back was to John, as he closed his eyes and savored John’s warm hands on his shoulder. The best part of getting hurt – John’s tender ministrations. 

After several long minutes, John decided he had better stop. He’d continued to rub Sherlock’s shoulder for longer than he necessarily needed to, mainly because the tops of his hands and his forearms brushing against Sherlock’s dark curls felt deliciously good. He’d always been a tactile person, and Sherlock’s soft hair was irresistible to John. He rarely had a legitimate reason to touch it, though. Regretfully, he pulled his hands away from Sherlock’s shoulders, and couldn’t quite hide the gravel in his voice as he said, “Well, that’s you fixed up. I’d better get out of my own muddy clothes too, before they…” His words drifted away as Sherlock turned towards him, his face turned up to John’s, and his blue-green eyes held an expression that made John’s insides turn into jelly. He took a step away from Sherlock, leaning against the towel rack as Sherlock stood and stepped close to John. He looked down into John’s eyes and murmured, “I don’t know what I would do without my doctor.”

Sherlock stood quietly in John’s space, watching his eyes begin to dilate, seeing the pulse leaping in his carotid artery, and the unconscious lip licking. Heart hammering inside his ribs, he slowly reached his hand up to cup John’s jaw. He desperately wanted to kiss him. As he leaned toward John, his mind screamed an alarm. “Don’t do this! You’ll ruin everything! You’ll lose him again!” Sherlock stopped, his face hovering just a hair’s breadth away from John’s, and he drew back.

John’s breath became shallow as he saw Sherlock approaching. Every cell in his body seemed to be singing in anticipation. Sherlock’s gentle touch to his jaw seemed to cause lightning to strike through his body. Then, Sherlock pulled away, the blue-green eyes hazy with desire and alarm. Sherlock stepped away, and turned to leave the bathroom in a hurry. As he started to flee the room, John’s hand shot out and grabbed him by the wrist.

“No. Don’t. Don’t leave.” He pulled Sherlock toward him. He brought Sherlock’s hand back up to his face, and nuzzled his cheek into his palm. He reached up with his other hand and mirrored the action, cupping Sherlock’s jaw, rubbing his thumb against the sharp cheekbone. He reached behind Sherlock’s head and threaded his fingers through his hair. They gazed at each other for seconds, (or minutes, or an eternity?) before they both charged forward and melded together in a passionate kiss.

John’s mind was spinning. This kiss was different from any he had ever experienced. Besides the obvious differences – chin stubble, taller partner – it also seemed Sherlock had the ability to turn his bones into liquid lead. All the heat in his body seemed to be pooled in his lower belly. Sherlock’s tongue swept into his mouth and he felt a jolt straight to his groin. “Sherlock,” he moaned against his lips.

“John. Oh, John…” Sherlock replied, his hands running down John’s neck, chest, and up his arms to his shoulders. John continued to keep his hand tangled in Sherlock’s hair, pulling him down to meet kiss for kiss, as his other hand ran down Sherlock’s bare chest and torso. His skin was so soft, John didn’t think he could ever get tired of touching him. He reached around Sherlock’s waist and pulled him closer, gasping as he felt Sherlock’s erection pushing against his stomach.

“Gorgeous. You’re so gorgeous, Sherlock.” He pushed against Sherlock, so that he could feel his aching hardness.

Sherlock’s head fell back as he moaned his pleasure, revealing that long column of throat that had always been such a distracting temptation for John. John kissed up the side of that throat, nipping and licking the fragrant skin as Sherlock continued to moan, shiver, and wriggle restlessly against John’s denim-clad erection.

He reached down to remove Sherlock’s belt, and he quickly unfastened his trousers. Sherlock began to do the same, impatiently unbuttoning John’s jeans and pulling John’s jumper and vest over his head. Their lips came together again as Sherlock gasped at the touch of his bare skin and John’s. Sherlock gazed down at their bodies, and at the head of John’s cock already emerging from the top of his pants. He moaned at the sight, and brought his hand to rest upon John’s crotch, and watched as his thumb brushed over the sensitive head. This action wrenched a deep moan from John’s throat, and he looked up at Sherlock with his swollen lips and flushed cheeks.

“I want you.” John whispered. “I want you so much.”

Sherlock felt tears pricking his eyes as he reached for John. “You can have me. You’ve always had me. I’m yours, I’m always yours. I need you, John.”

John took a deep breath, and asked the question. He needed to make sure they were on the same page. It didn't negate the fact that saying these things out loud was the most frightening thing he had done - and he had invaded Afghanistan. “Do you…do you love me?” John asked, his voice quivering.

“With all my heart, and for the rest of my life. Even if you never love me back, I’ll always be yours.” Sherlock’s heart was thudding wildly as he finally confessed his secret.

John eyes were shining with tears unshed as he reached up and grasped both of Sherlock’s shoulders. His voice was husky as he said, “Love you back? Sherlock, I can’t believe you haven’t deduced that I’ve been in love with you since the day we met. I would have thought you knew even before I did. There’s been no one in my life who could fill the place you made for yourself. Love? The word really doesn’t even begin to cover how I feel for you.”

Sherlock’s heart began to squeeze painfully, as the tears began to leak from his eyes. Years of waiting, pain and yearning, came to the surface as he tried to assimilate the possibility that he might actually get what he had so dearly desired. John’s hand came up to wipe the tears from his face, and pulled his head down to land a soft, loving kiss to Sherlock’s lips. He stood straight, no longer leaning against the towel rack, took Sherlock’s hand in his, and led him into the bedroom.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked my newest fic...it is unbetaed, unBritpicked...and I'm sorry I didn't expand on the smut at the end. This is my first foray into erotic writing, so I feel very bashful. I'm working myself up to it! Thanks for reading. :)


End file.
